John has bad days
by JasNutter
Summary: Where John questions and ultimately gives in.


**This is actually a continuation to Nocturnal arousal, written in John's POV.  
**

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The day had started out normally – as normal as days could get on 221 Baker Street. John had stumbled into the shower after a night of several interruptions in his sleep cycle – violin music, a gunshot, a mini explosion – nothing out of the ordinary. Reaching over the eyeballs and a dish of what looked suspiciously like chopped up liver, he had extracted a milk bottle and sniffed into it, making sure it was actually milk. He had almost sat on his flat mate, who had finally worn himself out and fallen asleep across the sofa, wrapped in his blue dressing gown. He had sipped tea over the morning paper, silently praying the milk wasn't poisoned. He had decided, twenty minutes later as he walked towards a dull day at the clinic and was still alive and fully functioning, that it hadn't been poisoned after all. It had been a wholly regular and calm morning.

Then things had rapidly begun accelerating downhill.

Immediately after tripping on Sherlock's friend, the skull, who had somehow ended up on the landing, and very nearly plummeting down the stairs to his death, John had gotten into a tiff with Mrs. Hudson, ( ..Could've put him into bed, the poor dear"…"He's not my _wife, _Mrs. Hudson!"), stubbed his toe on the doorway as he rushed out into the very chilly London air, limping and cursing, when a rushing bloke came along, crashed into him and promptly poured his coffee all over John's shoes.

It only got worse.

After hours of squelching around in his coffee-drenched socks, a particularly persnickety old lady, three nasty children, one who had left a nasty looking bite on his forearm and a hysterical psychiatric patient who he'd somehow managed to mollify and put two stitches on, John took his very desired lunch break, which of course didn't go well, as his girlfriend decided it was the ideal time to confront him on abandoning her in front of the theater -

"-for your _dear Sherlock Holmes", _she shrieked, pushing her dark hair out of her eyes, looking slightly deranged. "Why do you even bother, John, why don't you just date _him._ You've obviously got the hots for him!"

Yes, she was definitely deranged.

He had failed miserably at placating her and she stormed off with a resounding slap when he'd mixed up her name with his ex's, ("It's over, then?", he'd unnecessarily called after her), leaving him with a cup of very horrible vending machine coffee and mildly disturbing thoughts about the consulting detective.

He was _not _gay.

John admitted to himself grudgingly, as he trudged back up to his office moodily, that Sherlock wasn't an entirely a bad looking bloke. Sherlock wasn't bad looking at all. If he was completely honest with himself, in fact, John could confess Sherlock was actually quite attractive….very attractive.

"I am not gay", he told his walls and scowled at them, as though they were to blame for Sherlock's attractiveness. It wasn't homophobia; John had no problem with men in sexual relationships with each other. It was fine….all just fine, except John had never been attracted to men, not even in the scorching desert full of men shooting at each other where legal sexual conquests were scarce and heterosexual sexual conquests were almost completely unavailable. Besides, Sherlock had no interest in anything even remotely involving sex unless there was an interesting murder involved.

Well that wasn't true, John decided, throwing himself into his chair and huffing. Multiple times over the past few weeks he'd heard Sherlock getting off by himself in the shower. Multiple times, he'd listened and felt embarrassed and guilty when the detective emerged. It was oddly fascinating, how the seemingly asexual man unwounded under a steamy shower, moaning – John hadn't pegged him as one to moan. He could explain his own interest in his friend's sexual habits: it was simply because Sherlock was so damn asexual most of the time! His unrelenting arousal at the mere thought of it, however, he couldn't explain.

And the damned gorgeous man didn't make getting rid of the said arousal any easier either. He would parade around the flat all morning, a silk sheet barely covering the amazingly toned torso, his alabaster skin smooth, slightly flushed and exposed, just waiting to be touched. Then he'd walk off to shower and bloody _toss off _and then surface, still flushed, still undressed, and avoiding John's gaze just as he avoided Sherlock's, as though he knew John had been listening. John fumed and willed his brain to focus.

Fortunately a 70 year old man entered, right on cue, for a prostrate examination, and all thoughts of sex with Sherlock vanished for the next couple of hours as John busied himself with paperwork. Unluckily, they did not remain gone and returned with a full vengeance as he walked towards Baker Street.

"I am not gay!" he yelled angrily, holding his coat against his body to hide his uncomfortable arousal.

"Good for you, dear", came the voice of an elderly catholic lady behind him.

He stomped up the stairs, willing his brain to put away the lascivious images of himself and Sherlock, entwined around each other, tripping on Sherlock's friend again and stumbling into the flat. And then it happened –

Sherlock Holmes, in all his good-looking glory, sprawled across the sofa, exactly as John has left him this morning, a skimpy towel having replaced the blue gown, hard muscles on full display, just laying there as though he wasn't completely tormenting John with his almost nakedness. Well he was, and John had had enough.

So John, doing what any other man in his state of torturous sexual arousal would have done, dropped his jacket, ripped off his jumper, straddled the surprised detective and attacked his delicious mouth. The measure of enthusiasm he was met with didn't just astonish him, he almost came in his pants. Both men groaned.

"I thought you weren't 'actually gay'", Sherlock gasped as John moved to his neck.

"I had a bad day", John growled. And then he bit.

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Somehow writing as John was slightly harder O.o

Please, please review!


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